


A Fair Request

by hlwim



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Pegging, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 09:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19867240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hlwim/pseuds/hlwim
Summary: Dr. Granville's Miracle Tinctures and Appliances for the Promotion of Marital Bliss: affordable assistance for those couples seeking to reconnect, rediscover, and reduce the dullness of that most sacred bond!





	A Fair Request

“It’s not like we had a lot of options out in the field.”

“ _I_ was in the field,” Riza says, absently rolling the rubber shaft between her fingers. It’s pliable, but not nearly warm enough to pass for flesh.

“Sure. Fifty, sixty kilometers from base.”

True. And with poor consistency of rest-time between shifts. She grins, watching Roy work another finger inside himself and the accompanying twitch of his cock, still lying dormant between his spread thighs.

“Besides,” he continues, hips flexing subtly with the thrust of his hand, “we weren’t there yet.”

“You mean we weren’t _here_.”

He nods, breathless and shivering. Delicately, she runs her fingers up and down his thighs, tracing the tension building slowly in each strand of muscle. This is vulnerable, for him, and more than he’s ever asked of her before.

She holds no judgement, only burning curiosity. Such a lovely thing, to be surprised by him after so many years. They’ve played at acts close to this—a dirty book given as a joke had introduced them both to prostate massages and the broadening of her previously-limited oral skills. Her pleasure being easier to reach than his, and his experience far less than hers, there had always been a sense of openness and safety in requests, even if one or the other of them sometimes struggled to break through the awkwardness of anxiety.

“When you were with men,” she says, shifting from her casual lounge, “is this what you preferred? _Receiving_?”

“I never minded either way. Most of the time it was mouths or hands—easier to hide, and easier to clean up after.”

“You’re going to give me lovely dreams,” she says. “Were you ever with anyone I knew?”

The wolfish grin is familiar and telling.

“Here—let me help.”

She coaxes him up to kneeling and takes his length between her lips. His groan is gratifying—she adores it as the dropping of a curtain between them, the melting of his usual defensive shield to the sweetest release.

In the beginning of things, he had tried so hard to stay quiet, to keep the thinnest wax veneer of stoicism and present to her the mask he used with everyone else. Not that she could fault him for hesitancy—sex, as he had been raised, being largely physical sensation and little to do with love itself. It took trust, and time, and a hundred little exchanges, to learn his needs and teach him her own.

He is warm in her mouth, tasting just faintly of the soap he’d washed with minutes past, and she flicks her tongue along the pulsing underside. He’s not hard yet and won’t be for a while—an issue that seems to come and go relative to his current level of stress. Understandable, considering the latest series of events in their lives, and exactly what this night was proposed to relieve.

He’s been so attentive lately, and so very patient—it’s really only a few more weeks at most until she’ll be cleared, but the waiting kills her, maybe more than him. There’s a dimension to sex with him, to the intimacy and emotion, that’s unmatched by anything else in their lives, and she craves it with each moment together and apart.

Judging by his familiar reaction, his feelings on the matter aren’t too dissimilar. It’s a bit of a strain to her neck, but she stretches to gaze upward and see his face: the clenched jaw, the bobbing of his throat as he swallows. His free hand grips their headboard, squeezing rhythmically.

“Right there. Like that,” he whispers, and it’s impossible to know if he’s talking to her or himself.

He’s up to three fingers now, and their hands brush occasionally, as she gently massages along his perineum. He arches in response, and she replaces the pressure of her lips around his shaft with her circled fingers, shifting the work of her mouth and tongue downward. The skin here is less smooth but more sensitive for lack of attention, and the pitch of his groan lowers—the effort succeeding, as evidenced by the slow swelling against her palm. His foreskin slides back, and she runs her thumb in circles on the exposed red glans.

“That’s—that’s enough,” he says through a shudder. “I’m ready.”

The harness straps are a bit of a puzzle, and he happily assists between deep kisses and a firm massage of her hips and bare backside.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asks, settling the attached appendage against her pubic bone. “I _do_ have two hands.”

“I want to,” she says, teasing him with a slow stroke. “It feels good to make you feel good. Don’t worry about it.”

She leans in to kiss him again, coaxing him to open his mouth with the tip of her tongue. His hands drift upwards along her ribcage, closing the small distance between their bodies with an embrace. Her breasts press against his chest, and she can’t help the wince.

“Still sore?”

“A little. But they said that should get better, too.”

“Is there any part of you I can touch?”

“You’ll make it up to me later,” she says lightly. “We said we wanted at least three, right?”

“Incorrigible,” he sighs, still grinning. “Lie back.”

The lubricant is still a bit cold where a few drops splash on her hips and thighs—Roy pours a generous amount, in her estimation, along the length of the faux phallus until it glistens obscenely in the lamplight. He’d explained its importance to the act and lamented thoroughly that the catalogues sold such small bottles.

“What did you use back then?” Riza asks, as Roy replaces the cork and sets the bottle carefully on their nightstand. “I assume Dr. Granville’s Miracle Tinctures weren’t so readily available in combat.”

“We improvised. Cooking oil, melted lard, burn jelly. If you were desperate, spit would do.”

He shuffles forward, gripping the shaft with one hand and lining up. Riza sets her hands on his hips, not exactly to guide but to feel the shift in muscles and joints as he lowers.

It is entrancing to watch the thick black column disappear, to see the stretch of him widening, opening, accepting it inside. His head is thrown back, his mouth drops, and a long, slow moan pours from his throat. She’s never been treated to this angle of him before, with his legs spread and the muscles of his stomach trembling.

“It’s been a while,” Roy gasps.

“Do you like it?”

He nods, settling on the last inch.

“Still okay?” he asks, taking both her hands in his, fingers lacing together.

“Just don’t put all of your weight on me.”

A dull buzzing heats up low in her belly—some part of her wants so badly to be filled the way he is right now, consequences be damned. She knows it will hurt, will damage what is slowly healing from the recent birth, and logic demands she center on that reminder. Instead, she tries to conjure the phantom of an organ she’ll never have, thinking of how it feels to turn her fingers on herself, the way her body envelopes and pulses and squeezes tight. An extension, a thicker and more sensitive version of that, coupled with the heaviness of his hips resting against hers.

“I’m gonna move now,” he says.

The bulk of his weight rests on his knees, pressed to either side of her body, and he lifts up cautiously. The emptiness, the delicious anticipation of thrusting back in. Each nerve sings for it, as he pauses with only the tip left inside. She nods, and he plunges back down, quickly finding a rhythm more rough than she’d think comfortable.

He’s always been vocal in bed, and this is no different—she shakes off his grip and wraps her hand around his erection, matching the hammer of his hips. He pleads and exclaims and, dropping forward to kiss her neck and jaw and lips, he cries out at the deepened angle.

It will end too soon, if they’re not careful. Roy grinds down lazily, and Riza stills her own movement, letting him thrust into her loosened grip.

“I love you,” he murmurs, pressing the warm curve of his smile against hers. Equally breathless, equally pleased.

“I love you,” she says. “Let me push back. It feels good when you do it.”

She’s only been on top a handful of times, but something in his fluttery exhale draws a thirst from her. She is flooded with the aching fantasy of they will do when she is ready, what avenues of exploration his little revelation has opened for them both.

When he’s ready, he sits back up, readjusting, lifting enough to give space for her to meet his downward thrusts. She doesn’t need to ask for confirmation—the joy is written plain across his face and the hiss of his exhale. His hand wraps around hers on his cock, doubling the pressure that will pull him over the edge.

“Can I—”

He licks his lips, his glance between her breasts.

“Will it hurt if—”

“Just watch your aim,” Riza says. “I’m not washing _that_ out of my hair.”

“You _were_ thinking about cutting it short again.”

She pinches his left nipple between her fingers, and he laughs, shuddering and spilling in short searing bursts across her chest. Satiation—a low humming fills her veins, as he pauses for a few seconds, fully seated, grinding down and tugging the last dregs of stiffness from his shaft.

No doubt his legs are exhausted, and she rolls with him, fascinated to watch the rubber phallus pull out while he pants beneath her. A purchase worth every coin paid, if a bit cumbersome to remove. She retreats to the bathroom to clean herself and returns to him with a damp cloth—a funny little mirror of their typical roles.

Sleep is already coming to steal him away, and she crawls up the bed, stretching across him like a blanket.

“It still feels unfair,” he half-yawns.

“I got exactly what I wanted,” she replies, resting her head on his shoulder. “And I expect to get it again tomorrow night.”

“ _Incorrigible_.”

A smile, as she presses a kiss above his heart.

“Only because you encourage me.”


End file.
